His attention snapped back to me and I took another step closer.
“I don't want anyone." I gestured between us. "I wantthis."
We were close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body. He was shorter than me. I had to tilt my chin down to meet his eyes.
"Can I kiss you?"
The question seemed to surprise him. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Yeah."
Relief and anticipation tangled together inside me. I lifted a hand to his jaw and gave him every chance to change his mind. He didn't.
So I closed the distance between us.
His lips were chapped from the cold, but his mouth was soft. He went pliant against me, a small sound escaping him as I deepened the kiss and set the pace. He pressed closer, slid his hands up my chest, curled his fingers into the collar of my shirt—holding on, letting me take the lead.
I groaned.
He laughed against my mouth. "Good?"
"Good."
We kissed until I forgot everything waiting for me tomorrow.
Eventually, I guided him backward toward the bed—not rushing, just shifting the angle. He sat down on the edge. I stood between his knees.
"Tell me what you want," I said.
"Everything. But slow. I want it slow."
"Yeah. We've got time."
I kissed his forehead, then let my lips trail down the side of his face, across his cheek, to the corner of his mouth. His breath hitched. I felt the tremor run through him.
"Let me," I murmured against his lips, lacing my fingers with his and lifting them to my chest. "I want to take care of you tonight. Let me look after you. Can I do that?"
He nodded, eyes wide and dark. "Yeah." His voice cracked. "Yes."
I smiled and pressed another kiss to his forehead. Then I pulled back just enough to reach for the hem of his shirt. The fabric was soft, worn, and his arms went up without hesitation—but I saw the slight shake in his fingers.
He was nervous. So was I, but I wasn't about to let him see that.
I lifted the shirt over his head, taking my time, letting my knuckles brush against his ribs as I went. The fabric slid free, and I dropped it beside us.
He was beautiful. Lean, pale skin, a dusting of freckles across his shoulders. I could see the outline of his collarbones, the dip of his throat as he swallowed. His hands came down and rested on his thighs, and he looked up at me, waiting.
"Is this okay?" he asked, barely a whisper.
I cupped his jaw, tilted his face up. "This is more than okay. Tell me if you need to stop. Tell me if you need it slower. Anything."
He leaned into my touch. "I needyou."
That did something to me. Something raw and hot that coiled low in my belly.
I kissed him again, deeper this time, and my free hand found his chest. Palm flat against his sternum. I could feel his heartbeat hammering. When we broke for air, I pressed our foreheads together. His eyes were closed. His lips were parted, damp.
"Still with me, Kieran?"
